I let my hair down, sewed up some polyester pant suits, and bought a pair of bell-bottom blue jeans. Doris feared God would strike me with lightning.

After high school graduation in 1973, I was eager to get a job and start paying my own way. Doris and Jane were working full time in Ladysmith, and our little house was located near Conrath, several miles away. They each had a car, so if I had a job interview, they would carpool and leave one of their cars for me to drive to my interview appointment. I would be home alone most days while they worked, sewing new clothes, applying for jobs and doing the domestic chores.

On one of these days I received an unexpected visitor. A close relative who knew I was home alone, stopped by and sexually assaulted me.  He was several years older than me. There was a long history of child to child sexual abuse, but it had been a long while since any unwanted attention. Now he was an adult, married, and a father.  I told him I didn’t want to do this anymore and tried to shove him away. He forced me down on the bed and said “you know you want it.” There was no penetration, but fondling and his heavy breathing. Once he was satisfied, he let me go and then acted as if nothing had happened. Just started talking about work and the weather and went on his way.

He was (and still is to this day) a respected voice in the Christian community. Bible study leader, inspirational speaker, and very knowledgeable of the scripture — always ready to quote the chapter and the verse. I never told anyone. I hadn’t told anyone of my childhood experiences. I made a promise to myself that day that I would never allow it to happen again.

During my childhood years beginning when I was perhaps six years old, he started playing “doctor”. There was never penetration, but it was touching, fondling, and rubbing himself on my butt cheeks. I was conflicted as the attention and touching actually felt good, but I didn’t like to be physically restrained if I wanted to leave before he was willing to let me go. There was always a threat of some sort that he warned would happen if I ever told anyone.

I thought long and hard whether or not to share this information in this blog. I’m still conflicted – on one hand it’s intimately painful to disclose. On the other hand, it had a lasting impact on my life in ways that I didn’t understand at the time. I’ve since learned that this behavior is not that uncommon among conservative Christian families and organizations. I assume that there may be readers of this blog, who like me, raised in Christian families and had a similar experience.

If you are one of those survivors, I want you to know it was not your fault. It wasn’t because of any sin you committed, or some punishment you “deserved”. It wasn’t because of the way you dressed, or looked, or somehow “had it coming”. It wasn’t because you actually meant “yes” when you said “no”. These statements were communicated to me over the years. Twenty some years later, I addressed these experiences with a professional therapist and worked my way through the deep, dark well of emotions. But on that day in May of 1973, I put myself back together, and mentally turned the page to the next chapter in my life.

My first job after graduating from high school was at the law firm of Merriam and Weiler in Ladysmith, Wisconsin. I was 18 years old. Daniel Merriam was my boss. I typed legal documents and greeted clients. Remember this was before personal computers, and documents were created using an IBM Selectric typewriter with multiple sheets of carbon paper between thin sheets of onion skin paper. When a letter was typed incorrectly, it required using white out on the original paper, and carefully erasing every onion skin copy. It was tedious. Daniel was a perfectionist when it came to the quality of work. He would hold the papers up to the light, and if he didn’t like the way the correction looked, he would wad up the document and toss it back at me through his office door. He would watch me meekly pick it up off the floor as he sat behind his desk puffing on his pipe, and yell, “Get it right this time!” After a couple incidents of that behavior, I just retyped the entire page instead of trying to make a correction. Since I was a fast typist and made few errors, it was faster and less stressful.

One winter day during a blizzard, Daniel was working feverishly to get a legal brief finished in time for the courthouse courier service to get it to Phillips Wisconsin, about 40 miles away, in time to be recorded in their system in order to meet the case deadline. By the time I finished typing and adding the covers, it was too late to be sent with the legal courier service. He blamed me for not completing it on time and told me I had to drive to Phillips Wisconsin which was the county seat of Price County. I made it through the blinding snow and delivered it in time to be recorded by the deadline. On my way home, I decided it was time to find another job.

My second job was with the Ladysmith Insurance Agency. It was located next door to the Pioneer National Bank, and most of our customers were in the process of purchasing a new car or property and stopped in to get the required insurance. Ellis F. Manning was the licensed agent and his mother owned the business. We both reported directly to her. I mainly supported Ellis in typing up policies, gathering information on claims and greeting customers. Ellis was a good looking, young man, married with a couple kids. Unlike the busy law office, there wasn’t as much work to do and deadlines seemed non-existent. Ellis sat reclined in the big office chair with his feet on the desk and smoked cigarettes most of the day. When he had work for me to do he would walk over to my desk, sit close next to me, put his hand around my shoulder and go into detail of the task at hand. He might mention that if I would just unbutton another button or two on my blouse, his view would be much more enjoyable. It wasn’t uncommon for him to pat me on the back or on my butt in a playful manner. I would push him away and tell him to leave me alone. One day I told his mother I didn’t appreciate his inappropriate behavior. She patted my hand and said gently, “Oh, don’t worry about Ellis, he’s harmless and just likes to have some fun.”

In 1974, Doris purchased a 3-bedroom house in Ladysmith. She paid $10,000 cash. We were so excited to move in, and we each had our own bedroom for the first time in our lives. This house was close to my workplace at the insurance agency and I could walk to work.

Doris was working in Ladysmith at a factory (Kenneth Mills, I think it was). She worked in the office and I would stop by and visit on occasion. It was there I met a handsome young man named Barry who had also grown up in a large family. He had recently experienced a dramatic born again experience and attended the charismatic Jesus People revolution events that were popping up in our rural communities. Many traditional churches (Lutheran, Methodist, Catholic, etc) would host evening gatherings that attracted the youth. Non-traditional worship music with guitars. drums, and an enthusiastic speaker. Everyone was welome. It didn’t matter if you wore ragged clothes, came barefoot, had an addiction problem, or just got out of jail. Everyone would sing, raise hands in praise to the Lord, clap, laugh, and dance.

Barry and I were sweet on each other, but we never went out together alone. His car was always packed with older teenagers and young adults and we all piled into his old car. He was always smiling, upbeat and saying phrases like “Jesus loves you” “Praise Jesus!”  

Eventually Barry left the local community and I lost touch with him. He was a positive influence in my life; always a gentlemen and always treated me with care and respect. I began to believe that Jesus loved me no matter what sin I may have committed. There was freedom in Christ, freedom to love, freedom to forgive, freedom to enjoy life.

Jane and I visited the Sheldon Church of Christ one evening when they were hosting traveling musicians we wanted to hear. That night we went forward during the altar call and were baptized by immersion in the church baptismal. We never told Pa, as we were afraid he would be angry and disappointed that we allowed ourselves to be baptized by a church with doctrine that he disagreed with. My baptism that night symbolized a new rebirth. I felt cleansed.

Doris Jane and I didn’t join any of the local churches in the area, but we would often attend evening services when they were hosting traveling musicians we wanted to hear. We visited the Ladysmith Church of Christ one time when we saw advertised in the local newspaper that The Lower Lights Quartet would be performing. Doris was interested in making a change in her career. The leader of the group, Dennis Davenport, mentioned they needed an office manager to work out of their home office in Forest Lake, Minnesota to provide scheduling and support for the band. Doris was inspired that this was her new calling in life. She was making plans to move to Forest Lake to begin a new chapter in her life.

Jane, was dating a wonderful Mennonite fellow, Linford Stoll, and they were planning to be married in spring 1975. Doris and Jane were excited about the upcoming changes in their lives. I was uncertain of what my future held.

I purchased a television set and placed it in my bedroom on the dresser. Doris and Jane were horrified. In the evenings, I watched shows that were available on broadcast TV — The Odd Couple, Colombo, or Little House on the Prairie. If Pa and Ma came to visit, I hid the television in the closet.

I still had a nagging frustration about my small breasts. Although I had never seen my sisters naked, it appeared to me they were better endowed.  In women’s magazines there was often an advertisement for the Mark Eden bust developer. It promised to enlarge your chest from a flat 35” to a stunning 39” in only eight weeks! The product consisted of a regimen of exercises using a clamshell-like device with a spring to provide resistance. The device and the regimen were never illustrated or described in the advertisements, which instead usually contained pictures of a woman showing just the cleavage of her full, beautiful breasts. I ordered it with high hopes that it might enhance my life. Alone in my bedroom watching television, I firmly pressed together the pink plastic spring-loaded clamshell device again, and again, and again, and again . . . .